


The evening

by Residesatshamecentral



Series: Farewell my Conscience [3]
Category: SS-GB (TV)
Genre: Archer is guilt ridden, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hugs, Huth tries to help, Provocation, farewell Archers slowly eroding conscience!, is this news any more?, shouting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 06:55:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11053671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Residesatshamecentral/pseuds/Residesatshamecentral
Summary: Archer is upset. Huth helps in his own way.





	The evening

“You do realise you are being a bit precious about yourself?” said Huth.

It was late. According to the clock on the mantelpiece it was just after two. Huth lounged on the battered leather sofa, cigarette smoke spiralling around him, eyes glittering. Archer thought distantly that he resembled a dragon, reclining, dark, burning softly in its cave.  _I hate him I hate him I hate him_ , he thought.

“You won’t shock me out of it” he said. His nerves were electric, restless. He paced aimlessly around the room, pausing at the mantelpiece to toy with what seemed to be a fragment of painted bone. Huth’s rooms were quintessentially  _bachelor_ , battered, all shades of brown, with the peculiar clutter that screams to all women that any attempt to tidy up will result in a homicide. But like Huth, they tended to throw up oddities to any explorer. During his evenings here, Archer had come across a bird skull, three pistols of bizarre and dubious design, an edition of Shakespeare illustrated by Fuseli and a Goya etching folded, for no apparent reason, into a paper hat.

“Shock you out of it?” repeated Huth. Archer heard him pour another glass of whiskey. He refused to take his eyes off the bone fragment.

“That  _is_  one of your favourite tactics, isn’t it?” he said to the wall. “You want me to shout at you, or else cave in and agree with you. Either way, you win. Isn’t that what generally happens?” Shamefully, he heard his voice rise. He would not shout, would not let Huth have his way, he had promised himself that.

“If you say so” whispered Huth from the sofa. “What  _I_  say is that you need me to win. If you want to make me the villain, fine. But you need me to win, just as you need to get out of this mood you are in. You know you do.” He sipped his drink. “It is a precious, pathetic mood, and it doesn’t suit you. Playing Hamlet doesn’t really suit anyone.”

“Just say it” spat Archer. He turned around. Huth looked up at him blandly, below him, unthreatening, easy to hurt, eyes reflecting nothing but truth. “I signed up for this, so how can I be angry, I signed up to kill politicals, so how can I complain when I actually have to do it, I signed up to be the villain to these people, just like you were the villain to me, I have to accept it! I have no right to be upset about the girl! That is what you want to say so say it”  Silence. “ _Say_  it.”

The silence stretched out. Archers rage diffused, leaving only the calm of bitterness. The air cooled around him, the ticking of the clock filling the space and his eyes closed in resignation.

Leather creaked. Huth’s arms around him were no surprise. Archer let his head fall forward onto the hard shoulder that smelled of smoke and sweat and leather. “Well done” he whispered.


End file.
